Tuesday, January 29, 2013

Under My Skin...some more

Untitled
I'm at Lily Harlem's blog today talking about that sweet touch of sadness that can be found in certain books. It's all part of my Under My Skin mini blog tour. It's a love story, a ghost story, a story about a medium. About life ending and life beginning and second chances. A very unusual love story, to be sure. (AndI see it's just up on Kindle today! Woohoo!)

Thanks to Lily for welcoming me!

XOXO
Sommer

Monday, January 28, 2013

Maybe you're smart...


Berries on iceGood morning! It's snow/sleet/raining and icky and frosty out this morning. And genius that I am I scheduled an appointment for my daughter on a day she's a) off and b) the weather has decided to have a nervous breakdown. But there's still good news! I'm at Tenille Brown's blog today talking about mediums, ghosts and my new book Under My Skin! Pop in if you get a chance. Maybe you're smart and are sitting at home with a cup of coffee or tea instead of gearing up to go out in this ick! ;)

Happy Freaking Monday!

XOXO
S

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Coveting 101

I must be growing up some because I rarely covet things 'hard' anymore. If I see something I like, it's usually cheap. What can I say? I'm  cheap date. LOL. So then the question becomes to buy it or not to buy it (that is obviously the question). Sometimes, I do. Sometimes, I don't. Depends on the money flowing into our little home and/or my willpower at any given moment in time.

But sometimes I see something that I truly covet. And it's usually by accident. Like this *gasp* necklace:


I think I've mentioned before in a blog that I have a thing about birches. My favorite frost poem is Birches. I had a love affair with a birch tree growing (a virginal one, I simply sat in it to read) and there's just something about them.

Anyway, this rambling blog is to serve no purpose other than to say look at the pretty and okay! I'll cop to it, it's inspired a story idea in me. There's something offbeat romantic about those trees. I guess that's why I love them. I've never been 'on beat', heh, offbeat is always the way I roll.

Happy Sunday. And if you want, tell me what *you're* coveting right now. Coveters unite!

XOXO
S
More about the necklace and her other amazeballs jewelry HERE.

Friday, January 25, 2013

Friday Guest: Lily Harlem

I owe Lily Harlem a great big apology. She was supposed to be on Wednesday but I was double booked. Then I told her that I'd put her on yesterday, but lost her stuff! Then I emailed last night to see if she'd gotten the email about me losing the stuff and...she had not. So I am SO HAPPY that I actually have all her stuff and am putting her up on my blog where she belongs. Jeesh!

So away we go with some tempting info about her new release!

XOXO
Sommer






Confessions of a Naughty Night Nurse by Lily Harlem

Published by Mischief at Harper Collins

Blurb

When scalpels are set down, the ward lights turned off and the patients asleep, there is always time for mischief …

I guess you could call me a jack-of-all-trades nurse. I find work satisfaction in whichever department the hospital needs me most, as long as it’s through the darkest hours. Needless to say I’ve seen it all over the years, been there and done that, what’s left to shock me isn’t worth knowing. But it’s so often the quieter nighttime where the real high jinx abound.

Yes, the nocturnal life is the one for me. With a weakness for sexy guys wearing white coats and dangling stethoscopes, my fantasies are often realised and I’m adept at finding relief from the hospital grind in shadowy corners and cozy linen cupboards.

Of course my dedication to patient comfort is paramount. What kind of nurse would I be if it wasn’t? But when one act of extreme, albeit highly inappropriate, kindness forced me to become the hospital director’s snitch, the length I went to in order to keep my job, satisfied my desires and found me the love that had always evaded me. A love that made me push even my not-so-professional boundaries to the extreme.






More buy links available on the Mischief website http://www.mischiefbooks.com/books/confessions-naughty-night-nurse/  - and Lily Harlem’s website - http://www.lilyharlem.com


Excerpt

I checked my iPhone again. Another message from Tom.
 You coming?
I typed back quickly.
 Yes, so will you soon!
The porter appeared. He was new, a young guy, wide and stocky with hair so short you could see his scalp through it. He had the word love tattooed over the knuckles on his right hand.
‘You got one for Rose Cottage,’ he grunted, tugging the closed, coffin-style trolley along behind him.
‘Yes, sideward six.’
Luckily Mr Parslow’s skinny body was light, and within a few minutes we were heading out of the ward with him safely ensconced in the metal trolley.
‘Hey, Sharon,’ Tinkard called. ‘You may as well go for your break after you’ve done that, it’s just gone midnight.’
‘Right you are.’
The ward door shut with a heavy click and I put some muscle into pushing the trolley along the deserted corridor. As the pace picked up I stared at the lumpy back of the porter’s head and wondered if he was the one who’d found Javier and Iceberg.
If only I could see into his mind.
I pondered on whether I should question him. Just come straight out and ask if he’d seen the hottest medical senior house officer since Pompeii’s hospital had got showered in ash, shagging the Wicked Witch of the West where the sun doesn’t shine.
I thought better of it. My asking alone could become gossip, and I was keen to avoid gossip that included myself. There were too many skeletons in my cupboard, and, for that matter, in clinical rooms, sluices, linen rooms, and in that handy, unused office at the back of the pharmacy. No, I would keep quiet and do my own investigating.
Stepping out into the night, I was whipped in the face by my hair, the band holding it in a low ponytail no match for the ferocity of the gale. I hunched my shoulders and stooped, trying to shelter my face from the needle-points of rain blasting my cheeks. The sound of the torrent of drips hitting the metal trolley was almost as loud as the wind creaking at the row of oaks leading to Rose Cottage. Their boughs strained and moaned, their leaves hissing in great waves of noise.
The porter sped up behind the back of the canteen and put considerable energy into pulling. By the time we went past the incinerator and turned the final corner, I found myself jogging along the uneven path.
Luckily Tom was waiting with the door to Rose Cottage held open.
We rushed in, the trolley banging over the door-bar and a scurry of leaves whirling around our feet.
‘Fucking hell,’ the porter said. ‘It’s cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey out there.’
Tom shut the door, winked at me, then took hold of my end of the trolley and wheeled it into the bay of body drawers. I trailed along behind, tucking my wind-wild hair back into its ponytail.
‘Yeah, good job the VIPs in here don’t care about shitty weather,’ Tom said, stopping at twenty-six C and then opening the trolley’s lid to reveal Mr Parslow’s covered body.
‘Bloody hate this part of the job, me,’ the porter said, staring at the shroud-covered lump and shuddering. ‘Don’t think I’ll ever get used to it.’
‘You go if you want,’ I said, ‘I’ll help here.’
He widened his eyes and took a step backwards. ‘Really?’
‘Sure, I’ve done it a million times. Doesn’t bother me.’
‘Bloody hell, thanks . . .’ He nibbled on his bottom lip and scanned my coat, as though searching for my name badge.
‘Sharon,’ I said. ‘Go, we’ve got this covered and I bet you’ve lots to do.’
‘Yeah, I have actually.’ He yanked his sleeves over his hands and strode back to the door.
Tom followed and I heard him lock it shut, as was standard procedure at Rose Cottage. The NHS couldn’t risk body snatching, that’s why Tom was employed as night security here.
‘Poor sod,’ Tom said, wandering back in. ‘Looked white as a sheet, didn’t he?’
‘They all do to start with.’
Tom pulled open the drawer and together we slid Mr Parslow onto the metal; his body, although light, was a dense weight. Tom then pushed the drawer shut and closed the door with a resounding slam.
He wrote Mr Parslow’s name on a piece of card and slipped it into a slot beneath.
‘So how long have you got?’ he asked, a naughty smile tugging his lips and his smoky-blue eyes twinkling.
I raised my eyebrows. ‘No time at all. Change of plan, I have to get straight back, sorry.’
‘Ah, Sharon,’ he said, frowning. ‘Why do you go and tease me like that? You know how much I look forward to your visits. They’re the only thing that keeps me going in this lifeless place.’
‘Sorry.’ I glanced down his body. Through his uniform – dark-navy trousers and shirt – Tom’s well-defined muscles could be made out, as could a fantastically long wedge of flesh behind his fly.
My pussy clenched as I remembered last week when I’d paid him a visit. He’d bent me over the desk and rammed himself into me for nearly an hour. It had been so damn hard to walk back onto the orthopaedic ward I’d actually considered nicking a pair of crutches.
I hitched in a breath, knowing I wouldn’t be able to keep up my pretence for more than another few seconds. Tom’s big dick and his skilful use of it was too damn irresistible. ‘The ward is crazy busy.’
He reached for me but I stepped away. ‘Just a kiss and a quick grope then, to keep me going.’
Quickly I moved even further away, towards the autopsy room. ‘Ha, ha,’ I said gleefully. ‘Just kidding, I’m on my break now.’
He flattened his lips into a tight line, as if holding back a broad smile, though at the same time narrowing his eyes as though furious with me. ‘You little minx,’ he said. ‘You’ll pay for that.’
‘Only if you can catch me.’ I darted into the autopsy room, dark except for a couple of low lights over a set of huge scales. The air was cool and laced with disinfectant.
I glanced around. There was a big, steel surgical table in the centre, a row of cupboards, several filing cabinets and a desk holding an ancient computer monitor.
‘Sharon,’ Tom called, the door shutting behind him with a soft whoosh. ‘You can’t escape.’
‘No, please, no,’ I said with a giggle and ran towards the far side of the room.
He chased but I dodged at the last minute, went to run for the door. He cut me off and I swivelled, found myself barging into the bolted-down table in the middle.
I gasped as the air flew from my lungs, but recovered quickly and, with my hands flat on the cool surface, scooted to the end.
Tom was facing me now, his face strewn with shadows, but I could see the thrill of the chase had flushed his cheeks and caused him to pant.
‘Come here,’ he said, edging closer.
‘No.’ I moved away from him in a circle around the table.
But it was futile; he was tall, fast and strong. Suddenly I was grabbed and tugged to the end, my body pulled up against his.
He pressed his lips down hard on mine and instantly the game was over. Now it was all about carnal satisfaction. With Tom, I was always guaranteed a spectacular orgasm and I couldn’t wait to start riding towards it.
‘Ah, yeah, baby, I’ve got you,’ he said, shoving my coat off and flicking it out of the way. ‘You gonna take it good again? Like you did last week?’
‘Yes,’ I panted, tearing at the buttons on his shirt. ‘Yes, that was so hot, I could hardly bloody walk the next day.’
He chuckled, low, deep and sexy, then kissed me again, the stubble on his chin scraping my skin and his breaths blowing hot and hard on my cheek.
He had my uniform up around my waist now and was forcing me to lie back on the ice-cold table. He stepped between my legs and leaned over me, pressing his groin into the gusset of my knickers.
‘Really, on here?’ I said, slotting my fingers into his hair and drawing my knees up so they pressed either side of his hips. ‘Where they chop up dead people? Isn’t that a bit freaky?’
‘The French for orgasm is petite mort so it’s kind of fitting.’ He was fiddling with the elastic of my underwear, at the juncture of my thighs.
‘Yeah, I suppose, but, oh –’ My words were cut off and turned into a delighted moan. He’d plunged two fingers high up inside me and found my clit with his thumb.
‘Oh, you’re such a dirty nurse,’ he murmured, kissing and licking over my cheek.

Lily Harlem bio

Lily Harlem is an award-winning author of contemporary erotic romance and lives in the UK with Mr Harlem and a host of rescued pets. Since giving up a career in nursing she loves to spend her days dreaming up naughty stories that have a happy ever afters. When you read her books be warned though, the bedroom door is always left wide open!



Lily Harlem links







Thursday, January 24, 2013

Awesomesauce: I'm at Paid by the Weird Today...


Lynn Towsend conducted a coolio interview with me about work and life and now...after all this time...she shares the story of our meeting! Only I didn't know we were meeting. But that's okay, it all worked out in the end. Her story Dead in the Water ended up in my book Coming Together: Hungry for Love. Some stories just have a happy ending, right?

XOXO
Sommer

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

The Next Big Thing...



The Next Big Thing Blog Hop...

What is a blog hop? Basically, it’s a way for readers to discover authors new to them.  I hope you'll find new-to-you authors whose works you enjoy.  On this stop on the blog hop, you'll find a bit of information on me and one of my books and links to three other authors you can spy on. I mean, check out ;)
My gratitude to author E.A. Aymar for inviting me to participate in this event.  You can click the following link to learn more about E.A. and his work.  Website:  http://www.eaymar.com
 
Today, I was brave (or crazy enough) to answer ten questions about my most recent book that’s yet to be published. The authors I link to below will be doing the same next week, blogging about their most recent work or their WIP (work in progress). There’s also some top secret (not really) behind-the-scenes information about how and why we write what we write. Writers are a strange and colorful lot. Keep up with this blog hop and I promise you’ll discover that for yourself. Who knows, you might even get a sneak peek or two!

Please feel free to comment and share your thoughts and questions. Here is my Next Big Thing!
crow and hawk

1: What is the working title of your book?
As the Crow Flies
2: Where did the idea come from for the book?
Out of the ether. Which is fairly normal. I was watching TV trying not to think about writing and boom! Idea. Character. Story. All there ripe for the typing.
3. What genre does your book come under?
Contemporary erotic literature
4: Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?
I cannot answer this question. Ever. I like to turn it around. I hope once it’s out there someone will tell me who they’d cast as the main characters. That’s the most fun you can have as a writer, hearing people’s suggestions for people you pulled out of your mind.
5: What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?
Young widow finds her way through the first year without her husband to discover what she wants—needs—is to feel someone's touch, some human contact.
6: Is your book self-published, published by an independent publisher, or represented by an agency?
It is under consideration with a new erotic publisher as we speak.
7: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?
Two weeks. It’s a novella not a full length novel, so a bit faster than a book length work. Plus, it wouldn't leave me a long so I wrote a lot.
8: What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?
I’d compare it to my own book My Ending (Excessica) or Wanderlust (December Ink) or Base Nature (Ellora’s Cave). As for comparing it to other books by other writers, I can’t do that. I haven’t read anything recently that is in the same vein.
9: Who or what inspired you to write this book?
I have no idea. I think fear inspired me. A what would I do if it were me, kind of thing.
10: What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?
The hero in this story. Definitely the hero.

And there you go! Pretty painless, eh? Below you will find authors who will be joining me by blogging, next Wednesday. Make sure to bookmark and add them to your calendars for updates on WIPs and New Releases! Happy Writing and Reading!

Aisling Weaver: http://aislingweaver.com

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

This one time...when I met Peter Straub... & Takeover Tuesday!

LOST II

Bam! I am two places at once today. Somehow it worked out that way again. But that's okay because it keeps the joint hopping! Firstly, I'm at Kristal Baird's new regular guest spot Access All Areas where I tell you about the time I was tricked into meeting a literary hero. And then I'm at Lexie Bay's (I'm a virgin! First time ever :) ) for her new Takeover Tuesday spot.

Good stuff!

Thanks to both of these lovely ladies for opening their blogs to me. Make sure to stop back tomorrow because I'm part of the Next Big Thing.

XOXO
Sommer

Monday, January 21, 2013

Bad guys...

I'm at Cassidy Kingston's blog today yammering on about my new book Under My Skin and writing the bad guy. Stop in and say hi if you get a chance!

XOXO
Sommer

photo credit: bornin78 via photopin cc

Sunday, January 20, 2013

A Ghostly Sunday Snog


This a little snippet of my latest novella Under My Skin. A girl, a guy and the guy's ghost girl. Makes sense, right? Heh.

Check out Victoria Blisse's blog for more Sunday Snogs!

XOXO
Sommer

From Under My Skin by Sommer Marsden

He had such nice lips for a man. I knew they weren’t Justin’s lips, but they were warm and attentive, pliant but not too soft. When he kissed me again, I shivered in his arms. His mouth slid low on my throat, making my nipples go rigid and my stomach grow tight. It was like falling but being utterly safe.

My hands—but yet, not my hands—skated up his back. A well-muscled terrain covered with warm skin. I crushed him to me as much as possible, my fingernails skimming his body.
day 39/366 [broken parts]
Elijah. I was kissing Elijah.

“God, do you have any idea how much I love you?”

I didn’t talk because this wasn’t for me. This wasn’t my memory or my experience, this was a glimpse. I felt it all, all her feelings. Lanie’s joy that he was in remission. Her excitement over getting a chance to sell Montgomery House after so many years unsold. The thrill in her heart and soul over their impending marriage.

I kissed him back, raising my arms so he could pull my sweater over my head. His mouth was hot along my throat, my collarbone, my breasts. His teeth rasped over my nipples, making then stand up in tight knots. The sensation of his mouth on me plummeted low in my belly. Elijah pulled my bra cups lower, finally giving a small chuckle and saying with amused frustration. “Take this thing off.”

I did.

I took it off and dropped it at my feet as he worked my button and my zipper. Elijah’s mouth never left my body, brushing over my lips, my shoulders, my belly. He teased me again, dragging his teeth over my hipbones so that my skin rose in goose bumps. There he was on his knees, tugging my jeans down, broad shoulders flexing, dark sandy hair in his eyes. When he looked up at me, I felt the force of her love so powerfully my legs felt weak.

I gave into it. I went into his arms when he pulled me down, meeting each press of his sweet mouth to mine. I grasped his short thick hair and my breath caught when he tugged mine just enough to startle me. Elijah kept me on edge, kissing over my eyelids, my nose, my chin before sliding his warm tongue down the length of my throat only to nip my sharply at my shoulder.

I yelped and then heard myself sigh as his mouth went lower to find the tip of one breast and then the other. I went back when he pushed me, curled my fingers in and twined them with his when he held my hands above my head and moved himself between my thighs. His cock was hard and just seeing him that way sent a stab of lust through me that was entirely mine. It shocked me how much I wanted it, needed it, even if it was a dream. I parted my legs and moved up to take him in and all the while my soul was caught between joy and sorrow. I wanted to experience this for Lanie if she needed me to, but a small part of me was heartbroken that I couldn’t have something like this in my life. Not yet, anyway.

Blurb:



House bought for a steal online when it turns out there’s a damn good reason—check.


Malicious ghost with a body count to his name—check.


Sad, lingering female spirit pining for her still living (but currently dying) fiancĂ©—check.


What’s a widowed medium to do when a departed soul asks to ride piggy back in her body?


To share her space and get under her skin? Juliet Bale does the only thing she can do—with her twin sister’s good counsel—she lets Lanie share her body to help her dying beloved Elijah cross over. The problem is that with all the reuniting, and sharing one body, things get seriously intimate and Juliet can’t help but see exactly why Elijah Rivers was so beloved.

It’s so wrong to sorta kinda fall for a dying man, and yet—check.

Buy Links:


Resplendence Publishing:
ARe:

Coming to other vendors soon!